


Doing Better Than I Ever Was

by blackorchids



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bipolar Disorder, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Facebook, Future Fic, Gen, Growing Up, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Recovery, Reference To Past Ian/Other, School Reunion, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 15:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackorchids/pseuds/blackorchids
Summary: Ian's older now, and he's finally realized that good mental health and a healthy home life is more important than the glitz and glory he used to crave. Now he just has to get Mickey to stop worrying about this high school reunion.





	Doing Better Than I Ever Was

**Author's Note:**

> ????
> 
> title from taylor swift's _call it what you want_ because I wanted to use her song _clean_, but none of the lyrics rly fit

The invitation doesn’t come in the mail, which means Mickey can’t hide it or toss it. It comes in the form of a Facebook invite, as if they’re all middle-aged rich fucking _moms_, and, even though Ian hasn’t been on Facebook in fucking _years_, Zuckerberg still has it out for the little people, because the invite gets forwarded to Ian’s email.

Ian must print it out at work, because Mickey sees and hears nothing of it until he gets home late one night, long after Yev’s been put to bed, and sees it hanging innocently on their fucking fridge, between a water bill and Yev’s fourth grade report card.

The mouthful of sandwich he’d taken falls straight back out and lands on the floor with a dull splat as he reads through the email, inviting Ian to a _bar-be-que celebrating Tilden’s Class of 2015 10th Year Reunion_ exclamation mark, excla-fucking-mation mark. 

Mickey sets his sandwich down straight onto the counter, mayonnaise globbing out of one side and guaranteeing that one of his anal housemates will have a conniption fit about it when he inevitably forgets to wipe it up. Without a second thought, he rips the invitation from beneath Svetlana’s feminist magnet and stuffs it into their overflowing garbage, making sure to get some food on it.

After locking up his gun in the safe and leaving his badge somewhere that Yev can’t get to it, Mickey undresses in the bathroom and washes his face, creeping as quietly as he can into the bedroom, expertly sliding into bed without waking up Ian.

Three days later, Mickey gets off a shift in the middle of the day, early enough that he gets to be the one to get Yev from school, waiting in the kiss-and-drop lane and avoiding making eye contact with any of the moms or teachers. Yev clamors into the car, rolling down the window and hanging out of it, continuing his shouted conversation with his friends even as Mickey barks at him to buckle his seat belt.

Yevgeny chatters the entire drive home, asks about Mickey’s day in between stories and interrupts again and again every time another thought else occurs to him, and when they get home, Mickey has to remind Yev to put all of his crap back into his bag before the kid flies out of the car, just like always.

On the refrigerator, next to the latest postcard from Mandy, is the reunion invitation.

Another copy, Mickey assumes, since this one doesn’t have any ketchup stains, and Mickey has to wait until Yev finishes his afternoon snack and heads into the living room to start his homework before he can tear this one down as well.

He doesn’t get to shred it or toss it, because Ian comes in, hair bright in the evening setting sun, and his smile brighter when he spots Mickey standing in the kitchen, half undressed and looking vaguely guilty.

“Whatcha doin’, Mick?” He asks, like the little shit he is.

“Just doing a little cleaning,” Mickey says, unable to help the disdainful little twist of his mouth. Ian holds his gaze, daring, which means, of course, that Mickey _has_ to do it.

He crumples up the invitation and lets it drop into the bin. Ian doesn’t remark upon it, just continues into the kitchen and pecks Mickey on the temple on his way to go greet Yev.

Mickey knows better than to expect that to be the end of it and he’s jumpy and twitchy for days, feels a little like how he did when Ian and him first took up with each other, though this is definitely less fear-for-his-life and instead something he imagines all teenagers might experience in new relationships.

Ian’s acting like he can’t tell, which only makes it worse for everyone, because Mickey on his best behavior can level even the most prideful man with second-hand embarrassment. Svetlana splits her time between laughing at Mickey and swearing at Mickey, has told him no less than three times to _just apologize_.

The three of them lounge in the living room after Yev’s asleep most nights, a wide variety of Netflix shows being binged whenever they can find a few spare minutes. It’s one such night that she suddenly leans forward, pausing Westworld with the remote and fixing Ian with a stern look.

“What did he do,” she asks, without inflection, and expertly blocks Mickey’s flailing hand, smacking him back even though he hadn’t gotten a hit in. He tries to kick at her, and she kicks him back, ruthless, and Ian laughs at the pair of them for long minutes before he bothers to respond.

“Nothing!” Ian says, still laughing.

Mickey can’t help but give her a smug look, and she does some bizarre movement of her legs that ends with him being near flipped off the couch.

Svetlana gives the pair of them a singularly disbelieving look but kisses them both goodnight and exits the room, leaving the lamp on so they can’t start messing around on the couch.

Things are better after that, and Mickey really truly thinks Ian’s gonna let it lie, so he lets his guard down and assumes he’s somehow won; that they won’t be going to Ian’s stupid high school reunion.

The day before it’s meant to happen, though, Ian’s working a late shift, and Svetlana and Yev are out having a playdate-sleepover with Kev’s brats, and Mickey orders a pizza, leaves a home improvement channel on for background noise while he sorts through a case file, putting some of Lana’s cactus sticky-notes on relevant crime scene photos. It’s not until very late, when he’s safely re-hidden the file where Yevgeny cannot find it and eaten three-quarters of the pizza, that he takes the paltry leftovers to the kitchen.

And in the kitchen, ready to ruin Mickey’s relaxing evening, is a third copy of the facebook e-vite.

He finds a crayon and writes _NO!!!_ in big, blocky letters across the whole thing, underlining it so aggressively that he snaps the crayon, which means there will be hell to pay for that too.

Then he goes into his room and irons a suitable button-down to wear the next afternoon, because if Ian’s determined to go be a dumbass and risk a bunch of triggering comments and people, Mickey’s gonna come along for the ride. Obviously.

Late the next morning, when Ian is taking a quick nap, Yev and Lana get home and Lana takes one look at Mickey, sulking in the kitchen, and starts to laugh.

“If I’m going, we’re all going,” Mickey hisses at her, and that shuts her right up.

They leave late, because of course they do, Yev looking handsome enough in his little polo and jeans that Mickey almost chokes up at the idea of him growing up. Lana is wearing one of her receptionist outfits and anyone who didn’t already know would never guess that she used to be a hooker.

They leave late, which means finding a spot to park is a nightmare, and that, after Ian writes his name on a sticker and Mickey vindictively sticks his own sticker to the closest glass surface he can find, they walk into a near-full gymnasium full of the assholes they went to school with. It’s rare that Mickey is grateful he didn’t graduate high school, but that feeling is suddenly very strong.

Fiona still lives in the old Gallagher house, is the only one on the block who has thus far resisted selling to the developers who’ve gentrified the entire neighborhood, and it’s been a long time since Mickey’s really spent much time in the Yards, but it doesn’t take too much time for a few of the guests to start giving him bewildered and wary looks.

Ian chats with everyone easily, is handsomely humble when his yearbook picture flashes on the slideshow playing on one wall, seems to know a large number of people who ask after his siblings and his old girlfriend _that Milkovich girl, right?_ and what he’s been up to.

Lana ditches Mickey pretty early on, lets Yev drag her over to the area where the handful of children are congregated at, bouncing balloons back and forth and coloring on one of the stupid banners, which means that Mickey is mostly just following behind Ian, glowering at anyone who looks at him with recognition.

“Mick,” Ian scolds when yet another old pal of his abruptly stops heading towards them to go somewhere else, but he’s clearly amused. They’ve been wandering around _forever_, and he’s good about keeping his hands to himself, looking a little shy in a way Mickey hasn’t seen in years, but before Mickey can swallow the instinctive lump in his throat, some too-friendly fucker claps Ian on the back.

“Gallagher!” says the dude, hugging Ian entirely too long, in Mickey’s unbiased opinion. Especially since Ian laughs and hugs him just as tight as soon as he sees the newcomer’s face.

“Nguyen!” he says back, voice dropping half an octave and posture straightening out to something a little reminiscent of his ROTC days and they’re chattering away for far too long before, suddenly, Mickey clears his throat because he knows exactly who _Nguyen_ is.

Chris Nguyen, in full uniform, turns to greet Ian’s guest and his eyes comically widen for just a second before he collects himself. Mickey relishes in that second, smiles pretty damn pleasantly at someone who he’d once caught Ian hooking up with under the bleachers.

“Long time no see,” Mickey says in his cop voice, which is, gratifyingly, even more intimidating than his old thug voice. “Nguyen.”

The guy has a shitton of patches sewn into his uniform, but Mickey knows from personal experience that it’s hard to grow out of ingrained childhood fears, and Mickey had made it his mission to be one of those fears for many of the former students of Tilden’s hallowed halls. He’s only a little guilty.

“Mickey,” Chris says, evenly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Because I didn’t graduate, you mean?” Mickey asks, and he can barely finish the question before he’s huffing out a garbled breath because Ian may have filled out, but the fucker’s still got pointy fucking elbows.

Chris’ expression says he meant something more along the lines of _expected you to be serving time by now_, which Mickey can’t even blame him for, though he does think it’s real fucking rude of the guy to be so obvious about it.

“Mickey’s class of 2013,” Ian says, socialite voice in full effect. “He’s here with me.”

That doesn’t seem to sink in until Ian slings an arm over Mickey’s shoulders and tugs him close, unapologetic and grinning wide.

Chris actually verbally says _wow_, and Mickey feels some of that old adolescent urge to beat the shit out of him, so it’s pretty lucky that Yev comes streaking across the room, hollering _daddy_ in one long note so that as many witnesses as possible see him crashing into Mickey’s legs, almost taking him down with the force of it.

“I drawed you, daddy,” Yev tells him in what is definitely not an _inside voice_. “So’s the other kids can see whatchu do.” He’s so proud, beaming like the sun, flips it around so everyone can see.

It’s amaetur-ish, but Mickey thinks even Nguyen can figure out Mickey’s police uniform and siren-topped batmobile. His stunned expression is incredibly satisfying, after fifteen minutes of listening to him yak on about how high-ranking he is, how much of the world he’s seen, so many _exciting and hilarious_ West Point anecdotes, like he’s straight out of Mickey’s worst Ian-trigger nightmares.

“It’s really good, Yev,” Ian gushes, and Yev beams and blushes some more, all humble the way he always is with compliments. He makes a dive out of Mickey’s arms and into Ian’s, burying his face in Ian’s neck.

Yev listens to Chris talk for a few minutes before impatiently interrupting to complain about being _starving, daddy_, because he’s a blessing sent from who knows where.

The rest of the evening is completely fine, Lana returns to their group looking smug about her ability to ditch them with ease, and they eat bad food that Mickey complains about more than Yev, and make small talk with the few nobodies sitting at the same table as them, and they listen to the old student council members drone on and on about school pride and superlatives, all of them greyed and fat and just as annoying as they had been ten years earlier.

Mickey does his level best to not listen, but the room is full of people bragging and complaining in equal amounts, and he’s not the only one paying more attention to Ian playing with Yev. He’s the only one who gets to go home with them, though, which is gratifying.

There’s an odd sort of hush when they get in the car. Mickey drives and Ian sits in the passenger seat, forcing them all to listen to him going _can you believe Jess is—_ and _Davie and Veronica broke up what—_ like he really thinks the rest of them give a shit.

It’s Ian talking, though, so of course they all do.

Yev is harder to put to sleep than usual, demanding all three of them to be crowded into his too-tiny bedroom, Mickey reading and Svetlana petting his hair and Ian curled up next to him under the quilt. He talks and talks about Ian and Mickey’s old schoolmates and his own schoolmates until he falls asleep between one word and the next, and the three of them linger there for long moments, listening to him breathing in the dim lamp light.

Ian’s eyes flutter closed and Mickey thinks for a moment that he’s asleep next to their son, but his hand is still moving, steadily patting his back, their breathing matched. Svetlana and Mickey leave as quietly as they can, and, before she can head into her own room, Mickey grabs her hand, squeezing it. 

“Was not so bad,” she whispers, looking soft in a way she doesn’t often look, in thick pajama bottoms and one of Mickey’s own old shirts. “Yes?”

Mickey’s almost afraid to agree, but she’s stuck with Ian almost as long as Mickey has, and she deserves the reassurance she’s asking for.

She squeezes his hand back before going into her room.

It’s much later that Ian finally comes to bed, well after Mickey’s put away his book and turned out the lamp and started reviewing every terrible sentence that had come out of the mouths of Tilden’s finest in abject silent turmoil.

When Ian crawls under the covers, in sweatpants and without a shirt, Mickey scoots right over to him, huddling close.

Before he can decide how he wants to word any of his concerns, Ian leans forward and kisses Mickey on the tip of the nose like he thinks he’s a fucking princess.

“I’m really okay, Mick.” he says quietly.

Mickey blinks at him, guilty for worrying and relieved that it seems like he didn’t have to. “You used to dream of that life, man,” he says.

“That’s because I didn’t know to dream of this one,” Ian says, utterly unabashed, green eyes glittering in the dark room.

Mickey’s instinctive _aww, fuck off, Ian_ goes totally ignored, and Ian continues like he hadn’t said anything at all. “I’m happy and my meds are stable, and we have this nice little house with our kid and our baby momma and I love my job and it has good benefits that cover therapy and there’s nothing in the world—no amount of traveling or military prestige—that would make me regret this life.”

Suddenly, Ian’s quiet, fond smile the whole afternoon makes sense.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Ian says, too sincere like always, brushing the pads of his thumbs over Mickey’s cheekbones.

“Always,” Mickey says, because here, in bed with Ian, is where he can be as honest as he likes. “Always, Ian.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uh this one was really personal for me, which is why it's kind of all over the place, in terms of "plot", which is to say, it has none. It was hard for me to realize that certain jobs I used to want might be bad for my own mental health because they're unstable: scheduling, traveling, stress, whatever it might be. Above all else, though, the long-term life goal is happiness. In this fic, Ian's found it.
> 
> Also Mickey's a cop in this?? I kinda dig it
> 
> If you're struggling with mental health or just wanna talk or you have a prompt, come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.rosalinesbenvolio.tumblr.com/)


End file.
